Dark Heart
by Lassroyale
Summary: To save Arthur when he is gravely wounded, Merlin reaches into the blackest part of himself.


**Title:** Dark Heart  
**Author:** Lassroyale  
**Rating:** R  
**Warning:** None, really. Everything up to but not including the season 1 finale. Hurt/Comfort, Dark!Merlin  
**Parings:** Arthur/Merlin  
**Disclaimer:** The pretty boys don't belong to me - they belong to each other and the BBC of course.  
**Word Count: 2719 **  
**Summary:** To save Arthur when he is gravely wounded, Merlin reaches into the blackest part of himself.

**A/N** I started writing Chapter 8 of my work in progress and this came out instead. This is my first dark!Merlin fic. It's also a fic where Arthur finds out about his sorcery. Hope you guys enjoy!

**Dark Heart**

He felt it deep within his belly, a visceral twinge of pain that stopped his breath in his lungs. He felt the sharp edges of a metal blade sheathe itself in his flesh, piercing clear through to the other side. He felt the skin tear on his back, the tip of the blade peeking through before it was withdrawn completely.

The pain of the sword slipping from his abdomen brought him to his knees.

"Merlin, what's wrong?" asked Gwen in alarm. She set aside her basket of flowers and knelt down beside her friend. When she placed a warm hand upon his shoulders she frowned deeply; he was shaking so badly that her whole body vibrated with his tremors. When he looked at her she gasped; there was blood on his lips.

Merlin couldn't stop trembling. He barely heard Gwen or felt her when she touched him; all he felt was anguish that was not his own. All he could feel was Arthur, and he knew without a doubt that the prince was dying.

He wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow the warlock got his feet under him and was running, his long legs swallowing the ground before him as he rushed from her side. He paid no heed to Gwen's concerned shout behind him. The only sound he could hear was his own breath heavy in his ears and the slap of his feet as they gouged the earth below him. His eyes were tight; he kept his panic wound rigidly in his chest.

Branches swooped low to hinder his progress and the undergrowth of the forest floor seemed to reach up to tangle in his feet, slowing him. Merlin's eyes flashed golden and a word fell harshly from his lips; a guttural noise that cracked the air before him.

There was a spark, a quiver on the breath of the wind, and then fire arced out in front of him, blazing a twisting path through the thick flora. The warlock never paused, never slowed, but continued down the charred path, following the smoke of the fire as it skipped ahead of him.

It led him to Arthur.

The prince was slumped amidst a copse of trees whose branches were knitted so closely together it obliterated the sun. Around him lay the two bodies of Arthur's personal guard, armor pierced by thick bolts from a crossbow. It was obvious that the whole party had been ambushed.

Merlin paused only briefly to take in the scene before he headed towards Arthur, panic tightening like iron bands around his chest. He couldn't breath, couldn't think; his blood felt frozen until his limbs were sluggish and awkward. He didn't want to see.

Arthur was not supposed to look broken, like a porcelain doll tossed against the wall. Arthur was the strong one; Arthur had enough confidence and courage for the both of them.

Merlin did not want to see. He did not want to watch Arthur die.

Still, his legs carried him forward, each step agonizing, and fear tore him with jagged claws. He tripped on a root that curled up from the ground and it saved his life. Above him, chest height, a crossbolt buried itself into the trunk of the tree behind him.

"Aw that was jus' sloppy, Hades!" snickered a short swarthy man as he emerged from behind a tree, "Kinnae even hit an unarmed peasant!" He thumped his friend on the back when he too revealed himself. The other man was tall and broad of shoulder, with limp black hair and sable eyes.

"Yeah," said Hades, tossing down the crossbow in his hands with some disgust, "but th'prince kilt Gambel and 'ee was the better marksmen." He then smiled thinly and Merlin caught a glimpse of his rotting teeth. "Mebbe you'd like a go, eh Tybalt?"

Tybalt scowled. "Y'know I 'ate them things, Hadrian. Jus' sayin' that ye killed the prince 'an all, and I all I get is a lousy peasant." He hefted something that looked like a blacksmith's hammer. "Better than nothin'. More loot for us."

Merlin saw Hadrian draw his sword as he and Tybalt advanced and something stormed up from the depths of his being and devoured him. There was blood on the tall man's blade; Arthur's blood.

A black rage settled like a plague on the warlock's soul. It filled every crevice within him and left nothing for himself. It coated his skin and when it brushed against his cheeks it felt cold and wet. Something tugged against him, pulling against his spine until it _hurt_.

Merlin gained his feet swiftly as the two assailants closed in on him, their eyes bright with feverish excitement. He let the power consume him. His eyes rolled back and were flooded with golden light.

Words of magick twined on his tongue, snaking over one another in an intricate latticework, fitting together like threads of a tapestry. They were different than what Merlin was used to, more sibilant and fluid like a shadow's song. They were dark words and some part of him knew that he shouldn't speak them; some part knew that he shouldn't know them.

Yet he heard the spell as if it were being whispered into his ear, and the voice was slimy and wet. It was the type of voice one would expect to hear from something that dwelled in a misty bog and lurked. The voice heaved and rolled against his ears and whispered words of death.

The two men realized too late that their prey wasn't so helpless after all. Before they could turn and begin their retreat, they froze, twitched once, and dropped. Both of them were dead before they hit the ground. There were no signs of trauma, no blood; nothing. They were simply _dead_, eyes wide, vacant, and unseeing.

Merlin felt the power curl away from him like smoke, pulling away painfully. It left him feeling scorched and empty inside and part of him longed for that space to be filled with it again. There was a terrible gurgle from nearby and the warlock tore his eyes from the two men he had killed and went to Arthur.

The prince was in a bad way. His face was ashen from loss of blood and his torso was soaked red. His belly had been pierced and his blood was leaking steadily from the gaping wound.

He was also looking at Merlin with fear in his eyes; he had seen.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered brokenly, kneeling beside the prince. He touched the other's blonde hair, sweeping it back from where it was plastered to his brow. Arthur closed his eyes at his touch, the tension in his face relaxing for a moment. When he opened them a look of recognition had replaced the fear.

"Merlin," he rasped. Blood flecked his lips, staining his mouth a deep red; stark against his pallid complexion. "You're a sorcerer." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of truth. The warlock nodded silently in response. Arthur reached up a shaky hand and cupped his manservant's cheek. "You don't feel any different. You don't look any different. You're...you're still my Merlin."

The warlock bit back a sob of relief and grief. Instead he said, "Yes, I'm still me. I'm still your Merlin."

Arthur coughed wetly and let his hand drop, leaving a smear of red upon the sorcerer's cheek. His head lolled a little bit and Merlin cradled his head in his lap, fighting the tears that glistened in his eyes. "It was you that saved me in the cave when I went to get the morteaus flower," said the prince. Again, it was a statement. His lips curved slightly and Merlin wiped the blood from them with his sleeve.

"I sent you that help unknowingly," he said in a choked voice, "I knew somehow that you were in danger. I-I didn't get here in enough time to help you this time." A spasm wracked Arthur's body and he gave a cry of pain. Merlin saw that the ground around them was stained dark with the prince's blood. "I need to get you help Arthur. I don't know how to heal you."

Fear returned to Arthur's eyes. He gripped his manservant's hand in his own, slick with fluid. "Don't go. Stay with me...until it's over."

Merlin shook his head stubbornly. "I won't let you die. I can't...because...gods Arthur, I love you too much to let it happen." His words came out in a rush, tumbling over one another, but they rang with bald honesty.

Arthur drew in a rattling breath. "Took you long enough," he said with a ghost of a smirk, "I really think you are brain damaged."

Merlin gaped at him. "You knew?"

The prince actually smiled at that, though it looked ghastly. There was blood between his teeth and pink froth upon his lips. "Of course, I'm not stupid despite what you say behind my back. Though you must be...don't you know I love you too?"

Merlin felt the sob rip from him then. "You can't die Arthur. It would kill me too." He felt the blonde's hand on his face again and he looked into the other's pained blue eyes.

"No it won't, you'll find some other dashing prince to torture with your abysmal service." He tried to smile again but it was weaker than before.

"Don't say that!" said Merlin angrily. "You have no idea how much I love you. I _felt_ it when you were stabbed; I felt your pain. I worry for you every second of the day...when I can't be there to watch you."

"That makes two of us," said Arthur quietly.

They stared helplessly into eachother's eyes for a long time afterwards, neither saying a word.

***

Sometime later Arthur broke the silence. "Merlin, I don't think I can last much longer."

Panic erupted in the warlock all over again and he felt fear slide over him like it was a physical thing. He shook Arthur gently but instantly, gripping the blonde tightly as if he alone cold anchor him to the living world. "Arthur, don't close your eyes. Don't sleep, just stay with me. Just stay awake. Help will come soon."

The prince however, felt a pull to the other side. The spark in his azure gaze began to fade. His lips were bloodless and he was too weak to even lift a hand to place it in Merlin's. His eyes drifted shut.

"Arthur!" cried Merlin. He checked the prince's breathing; it was laboured and slow. Helplessness overwhelmed him and he felt lost and alone like a child without a home. He could feel tears in the back of his eyes and fought them; they would not help here. Not now. "Please Arthur, don't leave me."

A voice spoke then, and its words rolled against the ridges of his spine and coiled into the back of his neck. _'Sacrifice'_ it whispered and the sound dripped onto his skin, seeping blackness into his heart.

There were footsteps in the undergrowth behind him and Merlin turned to see Henry, a friend of Gwen's father, emerge. The older man gaped at the carnage around him before spying Merlin and Arthur. He hurried over, worry and concern in his eyes.

"Gwen sent me - said you came running this way in a frightful state of panic." His face looked stricken when he laid eyes on the prince. "Is he?" he asked hesitantly, looking at Merlin.

The warlock shook his head. "No. Not yet."

He felt the voice tickle the back of his neck and slide around to whisper into the hollow of his throat. _'Sacrifice,'_ it said again. Something wet stroked his ear, like a tongue but cold and clammy, and it sent a shiver coursing through.

"I'll go get help, you stay with him," said Henry and began to rise. Merlin shot out a hand and caught him by the wrist.

"No," he said. His voice sounded funny in his ears; it was too smooth, too silky. "I can save him with your help." The warlock placed a hand on Henry's chest and the other on Arthur's. He tilted his head forward and when he lifted his chin again, his eyes were the color of liquid gold.

Then he began to chant.

In contrast to the magick before, these words sounded sticky and thick, like he was pulling the sound from tar. They stuck together and created a webbing of magick that ensnared Henry and held him paralyzed.

The older man couldn't move and though he tried, his muscles felt locked and stiff. His skin felt like it had been brushed in glue and when he rolled his eyes downwards to look, he was horrified to see that black sludge was creeping from the soil to coat his body. When he opened his mouth to scream, the sludge surged down his throat and stole his life.

Merlin kept chanting. The sludge seeped from Henry's pores and flowed from the servan't lifeless body to Arthur. It coated the prince and squeezed into every available orifice; up his nose, down his throat, into his ears. It poured itself into his wound.

Merlin's chanting reached a fever-pitch and ended abruptly, the words swallowed by the deathly silence that had fallen over the forest. Arthur's eyes flew open and he gasped, drawing a long breath of air deep into his lungs. He sat up almost groggily, like he had woken from a very deep sleep. He placed a hand on his abdomen; there was no wound there.

He twisted around and looked at Merlin who was sitting hunched over, breathing heavily like he had just gotten done fighting a very tough battle. Sweat coated his skin and his hair was damp with moisture. Next to him lay the corpse of Henry Loges, a peasant from the village. His eyes were empty and his mouth was slack, but there was not a mark upon him.

"Merlin did you..." he left the question hanging in the air, unable to voice it. Merlin nodded and looked at him, terror in his eyes. Arthur felt disgust and anger curdle in his stomach, but then he realized just what length the sorcerer had gone to to save his life. He realized that he would have done the same, if he could. He touched the other's cheek gently, his eyes hard. "We tell _no one_ of this. It is our secret, you understand?"

Merlin, eyes still full of fear and uncertainty, nodded. "I understand Arthur," he whispered.

Arthur looked amidst the tangle of trees for a moment, his jaw tight. His gaze wandered back to Henry and he felt a swell of something unexpected rise in him: _awe_. "You are magnificent, you know that?" he said almost to himself and then kissed Merlin, hard and urgent.

As the two kissed, their lips like glue and their tongues a tasting the essence of one another, there was fear there, coiling in Arthur's belly. But he pushed it aside; his love was stronger. When they pulled apart, breathless, he curled a hand around the back of the sorcerer's neck and stared at him grimly. "Nothing will pull us apart again," he stated, full of assurance. His need for the other was frightening in its intensity.

"Nothing will," said Merlin in reply, "I promise that." And when he smiled there was a hint of danger that played about the curve of his lips.

Arthur decided that he liked it.

(The End.)


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